Last of the year - be well and be happy!

One of the many nice things about going away for Christmas is that when you come back, it is as if it never happened. There is no tree, so no needles to litter the house for months and there are no decorations to take down. The small display of cards have already been removed, new addresses noted and the remnants consigned to the recycling bin. So it is all over again and it is New Year’s Eve.

Today is an excuse for many to drink themselves into stupors, and to pass on and collect infectious diseases of all descriptions. The pubs will be filled with persons in fancy dress costumes and to declare undying love to all those around them. Then a few will venture out into the cold and beat the living daylights out of each other as a way of demonstrating another sort of affection.

Many will, as sheep like tradition tells them, make New Year’s resolutions. How many will pledge to give up smoking, or alcohol, or excessive eating? How many will pledge to be nicer, kinder or more tolerant people? How many resolutions will last 24 hours? Things look different when you wake up with a headache.

Many of us will attend private parties, where we stand around with glasses that never seem to be empty, nibbling at food that we don’t really need, waiting for midnight to come so that we can sing a stupid Scottish song as the calendar flicks from 2008 to 2009. Everyone hopes that the next year will be so much better than the last. For some that will of course be the case, for many though it will be just the same. There will be ups and downs and everyone will get another year older. These so called special days are days of self delusion and fundamentally are no different to any other day. Why do we celebrate the end of a year or the beginning of another? Why not celebrate Sunday as a New Week day? I have no problem with celebration, but I’d prefer to celebrate something worthwhile. How about celebrating the beginning of spring, at least then the worst of the winter is behind us then. As you walk or totter home tonight, just think – the two worst months of the year are yet to come.

I will make no resolutions, but I do wish anyone who reads this, health and happiness for today and tomorrow and so on.

A family that eats together sleeps together

Well it is almost here, the madness will end in waves of disappointment, and landfill sites wait with open mouths for the debris of tinsel, paper and broken toys. The stores will open again in two days so that people can return all the unwanted gifts, and scratch about for bargains like hungry chickens. Millions of turkeys will have been recycled, and monstrous carcasses will be the last reminders of those few days of sheer gluttony.

Thrusting families together for one or two days a year is a romantic notion, that was probably mad popular by Charles Dickens, though for some families there are very good reasons why they live apart. Burying hatchets at Christmas seems like a good idea in the run up, but often in reality it is someone's head that the hatchet is likely to be buried in. Aunty Beth and Uncle Albert haven't seen each other in a long time and they like it that way. Putting them together with copious supplies of alcohol, limited space, and an overheated room and you have a recipe for disaster.

A family is connected by its DNA, and if members are lucky or careful, then the connection may well go far deeper than that. It is not however a certainty, and many households are just groups of people who share little but a common roof. being forced together for extended periods of time can exceed the critical mass with all of the chain reactions that can follow.

As I write this, My Mother, sister and her family are heading south. Tomorrow I am heading North.

Wishing all a wonderful family time.

Solstice

Well it came and it went and i forgot to comment. Oh well!

Sunshine

It is a sunny day, rare for the time of year and for that all the more welcome. I will spend it in and around my cave, oblivious to the chaos that rages beyond and that suits me quite well. It is getting harder to be me, and I am turning into someone else, slowly but surely a transformation is taking place, but unlike the metamorphosis of a butterfly, it feels as though some sort of reversal is taking place and that a cocoon is forming, thread by thread.

The loss of an ear doesn't seem much of an issue. It is a disability that doesn't show and as a result cannot be understood by others. Most of the time, when i am alone, or in conversation with one person, things are fine. However as soon as there is any sort of background noise, music, traffic, chatter etc, i am lost. The background dominates and that excludes me from whatever else might be going on. That is all very well, but people don't seem to understand that I have good reasons for withdrawing, or not attending social functions where I know that i cannot participate.

And so i write. My writing course is progressing and I have a final assignment to produce in January. That is quite a tall order as it involves the writing of an opening chapter and the plotting out of a novel. Maybe the hope is that from little acorns, some small oaks might grow. I read the other day that the world is awash with new writing and that publishers are turning things away in unprecedented quantities. Clearly more and more people are in retreat, bashing out words on their PCs locked away in their own caves.

This reminds me of a wonderful episode of Hancock's Half Hour, where Tony Hancock decides to become a hermit. Other people see what a lovely lifestyle he is enjoying and before long, the woods fill up with hermits. The inevitable happens- a supermarket opens and then a cinema.

I have done the housework, now waiting for the floors to dry so that I can move out of the office. Not sure what to fritter away the rest of the day on, any ideas?

Woolies

It was so sad today to wander among the shards of Woolworths. A shop that I remember from childhood and one that has been unable to cope with the evolution of the shopper.

Seeing almost empty shelves, the rest laden with the sort of rubbish that has led to their demise, was sad enough but to see the faces of the people that have worked there for years was worse. They all seem resigned to their fate, and of course they have no choice, they are early victims of the so called credit crunch, and we all know that there will be many more.

The end of Woolworths is the beginning of the end of an era, and maybe if we come out of this recession, we will, as a society, change, and begin to appreciate the difference between wanting and needing. Maybe the shops that survive will offer useful goods, at prices that are affordable, and just maybe, we can stop making and importing from China, the horrific plastic crap that is left on Woolies shelves.

Shopping

I went shopping today. That is to say that I was taken to the shops and got to push the trolley. It doesn't happen too often but this morning I thought I'd go along and reinforce the reason why I don't get taken too frequently. As I wander around I tend to see things that I fancy and just drop them in with the essentials, and of course these things mount up. As a result, the shopping bill is always much greater if I go along. It isn't deliberate but it works and so i am rarely asked to go along.

Some people actually enjoy shopping - they look forward to it and wander around the various stores, spending money and accumulating stuff as if there was not going to be another chance. Our house is full of stuff that rarely gets used and i have no doubt that one day we will move again and the accumulated matter will get thrown away or donated to worthy causes.

I look forward to the day when all shopping is done online. Then there will be no need to mingle with the masses and will reduce the tendency towards impulse buying that is encouraged by clever people who arrange shop displays.

I still have yet to approach the prospect of gift shopping - that can wait until the 24th. By then many retailers will be so desperate to sell stuff that I might even save some money. Bah Humbug!!!!

'Tis the season to be a prat

I have tried hard to exercise restraint, and have got as far as today without mentioning the unmentionable festival that parts fools from their money, and also from their wits, seemingly for the whole of the months of November and December every year without fail.
OK I don't get out much, and these days that is a positive choice on my part, but I do poke my nose out of my cave now and then, only to withdraw it quickly and for a much longer time.
What is it that possesses people to walk around with red felt hats covered in cotton wool as soon as an R appears in the month? I can understand the needs of the shopkeepers, struggling to make a living, trying to tempt people into buying what no sane person would normally even look at, but surely there is a limit to how much crap people will actually find room for?
One of my pet hates hit me between the eyes last night as i went out to the pub. Houses festooned with muticoloured lights, inflatable Homer Simpsons, Bambi, fat Santa Clauses, multiple reindeer running over rooftops in the rain and the grossly huge snowmen. Some house here are positively dangerous. Turn a corner at night and you can be temporarily blinded by the sheer power of some of these displays, not to mention the distinct possibility of throwing up at the incredible lack of taste.

How do people afford it? With energy prices having risen through the roof, i can only imagine that many of these offenders are bypassing their electricity meters or even tapping into the empty house next door.

There are 16 million households in the uk, and if we exclude those of a Muslim nature, an estimate of one million remain. Now if each of these houses has a small display of lights on their Norway Spruce or their Woolworths, tinsel tat, then I reckon that just for trees alone, there is a power usage of 2000 MW. That is approximately twice the output of a major power station. THis does not even begin to account for the high street lights, the shop displays and the hundreds of thousands of Griswald wannabees that pollute every city, town and village in the country. It is probable that several power stations are required, just to feed this fetish. People say they are concerned about carbon emissions, but at this time of the year it seems to have been forgotten.

It is a peak time for suicides, burglaries, car theft, and violent crime. It is a Christian festival and yet only a small fraction of the population are practicing Christians. Churches open their doors to everyone of course, and for one service, on Christmas eve, the places are full of people, many travelling there on a wave of alcohol, and then twenty four hours later it is all over.

I remember a commentator making observations on the British at this time of year. He got is so right when he referred to a two month build up to a day when people eat too much, drink too much and then fall asleep in front of the TV.

Please don't try to tell me that it is a season of goodwill. Try shopping on the saturdays remaining before the 25th, and watch the scowling faces, the harrassed mothers, the bored husbands, the pushing and barging, the shouting and raving that are commonplace. It is a season of greed, of pseudo-bonhommie, and of huge stress and financial ruin.

Merry ..........king Christmas to you all.

almost nothing

Well it is now December so i guess that it has every right to be cold and damp and miserable, and so it is by and large. However the sun has been sen now and then and that always brings a little cheer to wintery days.
On top of that, i had a phone call from a dear friend this morning. She has been busy and not well and i guess that we have both neglected each other for a while, so it was nice to catch up a little.
I seem to be locked into a domestic life at the moment and feel rather isolated from the world. It is of course my choice and i am happy with my own company most of the time. It is a habit though and staying at home can become too comfortable.
Where i sit in my office, I overlook nothing but a small patch of garden and a tall fence covered in foliage. The only distractions are the birds that come to feed at the table i provide for them, and the occasional silver tube that passes overhead, taking people to their various destinations. I can see why people become reclusive and must avoid that trap if I possibly can, but I have to say that loss of hearing does in itself produce a sort of isolation and just following a conversation can be very hard. In groups now, i have given up trying to participate. Any sort of background noise really tends to block out voices and people just do not understand that.
I realise that i have not much to talk about right now. It is not the greatest time of year for me, but at least the shortest day is in reach and after that we can look forward to the arrival of spring even if it is a long way off.

latest assignment

Feel free to comment - i can still make changes up to tomorrow :-)


Part 1
In 500 words, write a complete mini-story where the central character is a child. Write it from the child’s narrative point of view (using ‘I’), and in the past tense. Pay attention to the kind of language a child might use; add to the observations particular to a child. Use as your setting: a busy city street, where something has just happened, before the story actually begins. Use some dialogue.

Promises

Mum almost never promised me anything. She’d always say, “We’ll see.” or “It depends on your behaviour.” or “I’ll ask your Dad.” So when she promised me a light sabre for my birthday, I knew that she would keep this one.
On the afternoon of my seventh birthday, she took me into town on a shopping trip. Dad was at work as usual and that was ok. We went on the bus and Mum let us sit upstairs at the front. It was one of those dark days and by the time we got there it was raining and all the city lights shone on the roads and pavements.
“Mum, can we go to McDonalds?” I gave her my bestest smile.
“Hmmm, we’ll see,” she said as we got off the bus, but she smiled too and I knew what she meant.
The streets were very busy and noisy; people were hurrying to get out of the rain and were pushing and barging each other. I held Mum’s hand tightly. I didn’t like all these people, something didn’t feel right, but I was ok with Mum and didn’t mind looking at clothes and shoes as we visited one shop after the other.
I tugged on her hand as she was looking at yet more shoes. “Mum, what about my present?”
“You have had lots of presents already today.”
I knew that she was just teasing me though. She put down the shoe and led me out into the rain once more. We walked very fast and I had to almost run to keep up, but soon we were there, in the biggest toyshop I had ever seen. Toys were piled high and the shop seemed to go on forever.
“Want to look round Jimmy?”
I looked up into her smiling face and said, “I know what I want Mum”, in a serious voice. “It has to be a blue one”, I added, tugging her towards the Star Wars section of the shop. “Nothing else will do.”
At last I held it in my hand, whirling it around my head as Mum paid the lady at the desk. I heard the whummmping noise as it cut through the air. I was Luke Skywalker and I was happy.
“Thanks Mum. You’re the greatest!”
“Happy birthday Jimmy”, She replied. “Come on, time for that McDonalds.” She took my other hand and pulled me back into the street, my sabre shining brightly in the darkness.
Then someone was shouting, and everyone around us began to run towards us. We had to turn around and run too. I heard the word “bomb” and people began to scream loudly as we ran faster and faster. I tripped over but Mum still gripped my hand. My new sabre fell to the pavement and was lost instantly as the crowds pushed us onwards and away.
Somewhere, far away there was a loud bang and Mum stopped and hugged me tightly. All I could think of was my lost birthday present.
(502 words)


Part 2
In 500 words, write a mini portrait of a character, in either past or present tense. In this story, note, there needn’t be any significant plot; concentrate instead on describing both the character and place, and on conveying a particular mood – and state this mood as the title of your story.


Regrets?

John Francis was thirty-five, though he had changed little since he was eighteen. He wore his white BNP tee shirt, neatly pressed, rolled up blue jeans, red braces and highly polished lace up boots with a fanatical pride. White scars of many battles, showed through his closely cropped hair and the blue black swastika tattoos seemed strangely incongruous as his fingers caressed the keyboard, producing the wonderful sound of the Beethoven Sonata.
The music filled the spacious, elegantly decorated drawing room, filtering out and permeating the rest of the house. Full of pathos and sadness and yet also brimming with life and optimism, the musical soul of the great man was emerging through the damaged mind of John Francis.
There was no sign of emotion in his steely blue eyes, yet what flowed from his fingers was sublime. He had shown great musical promise in his early years and had been encouraged by his parents, who, though financially burdened, paid for piano lessons as soon as he was big enough to reach the keys.
Moving to Bradford had changed everything. The inner city school was unlike anything he had ever experienced, and survival meant taking sides. The only protection available came from the gang that you chose to join. Life is about choices, even though sometimes it seems like there are none. His parents had chosen, then John had to choose, and for both there was no going back. Racial abuse had shortened his father’s life, and his Mother never recovered from the shock.

John’s eyes gazed around the unfamiliar room. The Wedgewood blue walls were in perfect keeping with the huge Georgian windows and the parquet floors. Display cabinets containing delicate porcelain, and heavily gilded framed paintings were the only furnishings apart from the grand Steinway. The Beethoven was the last piece that he had learned before the move to Bradford, and he recalled other wonderful pieces, each tagged with a memory. The room was perfectly constructed for the rich sounds of the very expensive piano and, closing his eyes for a moment, he imagined a very different present and a single tear formed in the corner of his eye.
Abruptly his eyes opened and he stopped playing. The last chord echoed around the room and as the music died, so did his temporary lapse into the past. He blinked away the unaccustomed wetness in his eye and listened to the silence of the house. Somewhere far off he could hear the ticking of an ancient clock, a reminder that he needed to leave.
Before long the police would be here; he knew that. Regretfully, and with great respect, he closed the lid of the piano, running his fingers over the beautifully polished finish.
He looked down at Abdul Patel, who lay in a pool of blood beneath the piano. The man, whose house he had just robbed was dead. John kicked him hard in the face, one more time and, before he left, used a curtain to wipe the blood from his toe-cap.
(505 words)


Part 3
In 500 words, write a story or part of a story that fictionalizes something that is mentioned on the radio when you go to turn it on now. Choose a setting which you describe somewhere in your 500 words, and tell this mini-story from the narrative point of view of a man or woman (a character) whom the story directly affects. Do not use any dialogue. Write it either in the past or present tense. Try to use clear, vivid language so that your reader can see the setting and character(s). Avoid cliché.


Young’s Modulus

I almost can’t believe what I did now, it seems that there was no limit to my vanity. But hey, he was quite a catch, and I couldn’t believe it when he suggested going back to his place. What a good job I am always prepared for such contingencies.
It had started as a girls night out; just the three of us you know how it is, and anyway we’d ended up at the Anchor. They have live music there and it’s always busy. We’d had a few vodka and tonics and then this bloke came over and asked me if I wanted to dance. Bev and Tracey didn’t seem bothered and so I said ok. He looked like a nice bloke anyway. So we danced, well we moved around to some music and he took every chance to get close. He didn’t actually grope me but I could tell it was on his mind.
It was close to chucking out time when he made his offer. I couldn’t think of any reason not to go until I realised that I had a problem.
I made my excuses and headed for the ladies. As always there was a queue, and the brazen or really desperate few were even using the men’s toilets. I needed privacy and had no choice but to wait my turn.
Eventually I got to the front of the line and dashed for the vacant cubicle, shut and bolted the door and sat down. The smell was pretty appalling, someone was puking up next door, and outside people were yelling for us all to get a move on. I hung my bag on the back of the door and with difficulty I unzipped my dress and being very careful not to let it touch the floor I stepped out of it and hung that up too.

My flesh coloured control pants, as they are known, were successfully holding everything in. They came all the way up to my boobs and all that flab was held in place tightly and securely. I couldn’t go back to his place wearing them . What would he think?
I began to peel them down. Not an easy thing to do, and as I applied more force, rolls of flesh began to spill out, so relieved to be released. Flesh seemed to be appearing from nowhere as tyre after tyre sprang forth. It was a nightmare, my flab was out of control and the garment seemed reluctant to let more out. Each time I pulled a bit down, another elasticated section seemed to regain hold. By this time I was sweating and imagining that I was forever attached to my garment, but I persisted and bit by bit they gave in and my confined mass reorganised itself.
As I was stepping out of them, a toe snagged in a fold of elastic. I lost my balance and also my grip on the fabric and to my horror I saw my precious pants catapult upwards and over the wall into the next cubicle.
(510 words)

frustration

There are some kids around, who normally infest the skate park over the road. They are clearly bored with hurtling around on those bits of wood with wheels on, and have taken to running rampant through people's gardens, ringing doorbells and running away, and generally being obnoxious and unpleasant.

Our street is coffin dodger territory and many old folk get very worked up about this, as you can imagine. I just get pissed off and that makes me mad.

Last night i was sorely tempted to take a baseball bat around to the skatepark and have a good chat with the little sods, but i was dissuaded from going. Tonight may be a different matter. I plan to wait for them to arrive, I'll hide in the bushes and spring a rear guard action, hoping to catch one of them.

The police tell me that I cannot set traps, tripwires or land mines. i cannot shoot them, hit them or castrate them without being prosecuted myself. i am also told that because i have no fence ( i am not allowed a fence here) people can assume that they are welcome to wander my garden at will! So says the law!!! Should any of the little vermin trip and fall while running away, then it will be my fault and therefore i can be prosecuted.

If we can identify them - they all wear hoods, then they might just have a word with the parents but don't bank on it. Even if caught red handed the police might just give them a telling off. Meanwhile we suffer the vandalism and abuse and must tolerate it. I am afraid that I am not very tolerant, and will not lie down and be dictated to by these little shits. Why oh why can we not wake up as a society, to the fact that we are allowing the scum of society a free rein. Surely it is time to forget the concept of human rights as being an expectation for all. By terrorising innocent and vulnerable people, one must forfeit the right to be treated softly.


ps - If you don't hear from me I am in jail.

Education? Ha!

Sometimes I need to escape the present, although mostly these days, I do try to live each day for itself. being one whose tendency is to look back rather than forward, it is easy to recall the past with rose tinted memories, and yes we do tend to bury the bad experiences wherever possible.

I am reading a book called "It's Your Time You're Wasting" by an ex supply teacher who worked in inner city schools. It is essentially a catalogue of bad experiences that illustrate the sad state of so many of our classrooms, that have been systematically saboutaged by endless tinkering and interfering by political parties and educational theorists who have, along with some bloody useless teachers, wrecked the education of so many students over the years.

Yes there are useless teachers, and yes they are hard to get rid of, but there are even more useless educational theorists and administrators who are even harder to shift.

I can recall teaching colleagues, whose every day experience must have been a misery for them. Men and women who had no control whatsoever over their charges, and who would preside over riots within their classrooms, day after day. No learning could possible have taken place and yet each day these people would turn up and go through the whole fiasco, seemingly impervious to what was going on.

There were others who the kids loved, because they never made them do anything, or would allow them to do more or less anything that they wanted, other than work. The system allows it to happen, and as long as these people can tick all the right boxes when inspectors call then they get away with it year after year. I knew one teacher who was so incompetent at administration, that he was never allowed to have a registration group. He claimed that he couldn't see well enough to mark a register, so while the rest of us were dealing with out daily charges, he would sit in the staffroom, or his office, reading the small print of the financial times.

There were still more who, rather than press kids into extending themselves would make every lesson a joy by providing cut and stick exercises, which of course is a wonderful way to control a class as they can talk about anything and everything instead of actually learning anything.

The system as it is stinks. GCSE and the National curriculum replaced a perfectly good system of GCE and CSE examinations, which prepared kids for choices post 16. Now everyone is equal and pushed through the same hoops in a ridiculous attempt to improve standards. The kids know that it is a con and so do the teachers. OFSTED is a joke and schools get plenty of time to prepare for inspections, rendering them more or less invalid.

I'd like to see local politicians making spot visits to our schools. They'd find out what was really happening and perhaps something could be done to rescue the chances of our kids.

There are of course many excellent teachers out there and they deserve to be rewarded for what they manage to do despite the odds.

Out of control

When you go into hospital, the first thing that you lose is any control over what goes on. Your body, that you consider your own, becomes the property of the NHS, and you simply place it into the hands of strangers, that through necessity you trust.

I was instructed to report to the ward at 10.30 am for admission, and I, as always arrived punctually. The usual forms were filled in and my identity thoroughly checked before i was allowed to put on the ubiquitous backless nightie and begin the long wait.
I was informed that I was first on the afternoon list. To my knowledge ther is no morning one as a. the surgeons don't come in until midmorning and then they have to do the post op rounds. So anyway, at around 12.30, just as everyone else was being fed, i was walked up to the other end of the vast corridor and sat in a chair to wait. i was eventually put on a table at around 3.30, having finished all the crosswords and worked myself into a state. The next think i know is that i am being woken, back in the ward, with the whole world whirling around in circles. Threatre nurses stay a while to make sure that you are alive and breathing and then vanish, never to be seen again.

Periods of sleep, then waking as the ward fills and empties again, weird dreams and strange sensations come and go and then you are on your own again, left to sleep. If only that were possible!!

Hospital wards are, hot, light, and noisy. The staff talk loudly and to make matters worse, someone decided to dig up the road outside at around midnight. Any chance of sleep after that was destroyed by the guy in the next bed who snored loudly all night. Never before has a night seemed so long.

Sometime in the early hours, I needed to pee. Tentatively I got to my feet noticing that there was blood all over my pillow. I tottered out like an inebriate, past three nurses sitting at a desk, who kindly asked if I was ok. I said that I thought so but there was blood all over my pillow. I made the desperately required pit stop and while washing my hands noticed my heavily bandaged head and streams of red stuff running down my neck. So I wandered back, past said nurses and found that they had changed my pillow. No-one seemed interested in the cause of the bleeding so I went back to bed.

It seems from the stitching, that my ear was sliced away and folded forwards and glued to my face before they dug out the stuff that was causing the problem. Alas the damage was extensive and i have lost all of the functionality of the ear. Still better than the consequences of not having it done.

The ear is still bleeding and i am still dizzy, but thankfully there is no pain as yet. I have a sillier haircut than before and one ear sticks out so I look and feel a different person, but I am still here and can still put a few words together so i will not complain.

Thank you for all of your support, i appreciate that very much.

Home again

I am back - watch this space for the sordid details.....

Sunday - I made it!

Well here we are - a complete week of entries. I didn't think I had it in me!
It has been a very busy week and there have been things that i have meant to do but somehow not got around to. I haven't even managed to tidy my desk, but that can wait until the morning, as can a shave and shower.

I actually managed to write a chapter of a novel that has been fermenting in my mind for so long, it must be getting toxic. The only trouble is i don't really know where it is heading. i guess when i get back i can start chapter 2 and then see where i end up. It is strange how, as a boy I hated writing, and now i can't seem to get enough time to write all the thoughts that cascade through me. i want to write and of course i want to be read. There is a vanity there i guess, but I am beginning to think that I can write in a way that others might actually want to read.

There is a downside to all this fervent activity. I seem to have lost time to read, and although i have five books on the go, I seem to lose focus on reading very quickly as new thoughts enter my head and I then need to write them down. All this takes time and I just don't seem to have enough of it.

I have wanted to write about the American election and the blame culture that is now crucifying Sarah Palin but somehow my heart isn't in it. I hate to kick someone who is down.

Anyhow, off to hospital tomorrow, i have to check in at 10.30 and then, if I haven't absconded in my backless gown, I am being done in the afternoon. No doubt there will be no sense from me tomorrow (no change there I hear you say) but I hope to be back on tuesday and will post a bulletin as soon as I am able. Be kind to yourself and be happy.

Saturday

Had a lot of strange dreams last night - I guess the inner tension is starting to show its presence.
Nothing much sort of day again. i wrote a little, and am now cooking a coq au vin for dinner - we have guests.
It is one of those dishes that sounds simple until you come to do it. preparation takes ages, not least of which
is the home made chicken stock. However it is done and simmering so i guess i need to shower and shave before they arrive.
I am only writing this to keep a clean sheet this week, with an entry for each day. One never knows which entry will be the last
so I press on and hope, always, to make one more.

It's Friday

I am full of good intent, and one of my pledges to myself this week was that I would blog each day and also try to find something interesting to write about. Well i have managed to write each day that is true, but some days i do struggle to find things to say.
I did make a start on a personal writing project today, more on that another time. It is something that I set out to do once before but never had the will to see it through. there is no guarantee that this time will be any different but i will at least make an effort for now.

I have enjoyed this week, and there are still a couple of days to go, so I see no reason why i shouldn't manage the seven days. I have written a lot this week and have received some feedback, much of which has been useful, and I am grateful to anyone who takes that trouble. Criticising someone's work is always risky as you never really know how they will take it, and if you are like em then you probably hate upsetting people, however I am prepared to accept whatever anyone throws at me.

I have managed to consume nearly a whole pack of pistachio nuts today and feel a little bloated, but now it is off to the kitchen to make a curry - well it is friday after all and i haven't had a curry since last week.

An ordinary day

Thursday, wet, cold and novemberish. I needed to press ahead with an assignment that is required for the first of the online tutorials. You can guess that it is scheduled for next week, while I am otherwise disposed. Oh well i spent today writing. The task seemed trivial at first but proved harder , and more rewarding than i thought. Given a list of twelve fairly mundane words, we have to write a few lines that brings each word to life. I hope i succeeded, as always feedback of a constructive nature is always welcome. Wow even destructive is ok, it means i am being read.

Mary

Mary, unlike her namesake, was no virgin. Her tired face, burdened by layers of hastily applied makeup, and illuminated by the harsh streetlight, appeared stark, colourless and unreal. Her cheap, revealing outfit did little to enhance a figure that had seen better days. She huddled and shivered in the thin, night air as she awaited her next client with no sense of anticipation at all.

Sorrow

The news of my brother’s death came as a complete shock. There was an initial inertia of disbelief, as I stumbled back to my lonely room, and as I closed the door on the world, reality began to diffuse into my consciousness, tears welled from the depths of my being and as I lay on my unmade bed, my body was racked with sobs excluding everything else. Never before had I understood the true meaning of sorrow.

Joy

The bonus ball was a six. He stared in disbelief as the numbers were put in sequence on the TV screen. He looked back at his lottery ticket and back at the screen, checking and double-checking and vaguely heard the presenter declaring that tonight there is just one lucky winner.

He couldn’t believe it; he had never won a thing in his life.

“And tonight’s jackpot is twelve million pounds” came through, penetrating his mind like a flash of lightning.

His problems were over; his debts could be finally paid and he could do whatever he wanted. Overwhelmed with joy, it took him seconds to realise what this meant to him.

“I’ve won the lottery Margaret,” he said quietly to the sour faced woman that his wife had turned into, and for the first time in years, she smiled, albeit icily.

“That’s nice,” she said in a sarcastic tone.

“Yes,” he replied, his heart almost bursting with a sense of newfound freedom. “You’d best get packed!”

She put down her knitting and for once showed an interest in what he was saying.

“Where are we going then?” she asked attempting to add warmness to her voice.

He looked at his wife with a look of utter contempt. “WE ain’t going nowhere! You are! Now clear off!”


Blue

Everything about the bedroom was cold. The small space was lit by a single blue bulb that hung from the ceiling on a frayed, fabric covered, flex. The weak light reflected evenly from the plain surfaces of the unpatterned walls and fabrics while intense black shadows hid underneath the bed and single chair. Their breath seemed suspended in thin blue clouds in the frigid air.

Mug

That mug meant a lot to me. Not that it was particularly special in itself. It was white, mass-produced and had the bright yellow face of Homer Simpson printed on it, but it had been a gift from someone very special.

Over the years it had become a part of my daily routine. It lived among the clutter of books and papers that also seemed permanent fixtures on my desk, and each tea break, I would rinse away the remnant of the previous drink under the cold tap before adding a fresh teabag and hot water. Never having been washed properly, the inner surface had gained a dense patina of dark brown tannins and a recent chip from the inner lip, stood out in stark contrast.

Why someone would want to steal it was beyond me.

Skirt

Her legs seemed to go on forever; an illusion accentuated by ridiculously high heels and the almost non-existent strip of fabric that the Carnaby Street Boutique dared call a skirt. The thin, floral printed, cotton garment that hung from her hips, left little to the imagination, and each tottering step that she made towards the front door revealed more than just a hint of white panties. She reached for the handle, but before she could turn it, her father’s voice boomed loudly the words that she had learned to dread.

“You are not going out looking like that!”


Shoe

The shoe felt heavy in her hand. The black, scuffed, faux leather was machine stitched and new looking laces were tied tightly in a double bow. Curious as to the strange weight, she peered inside it, immediately dropping it with an involuntary shriek. It still contained a foot.



John

John was approaching his sixtieth birthday, and as he aged was becoming more and more like his father. His once long, flowing hair had thinned and receded, while gravity had forced the migration of much of his flesh to his waistline. He mumbled, rather than spoke, and whenever his watery blue eyes met yours, it was over the rims of his reading glasses. He was working hard on his hypochondria, and enjoyed cataloguing his multiple complaints whenever anyone would take time to listen.

John had become what he had always despised. A pompous, self-righteous bigot.


Wednesday

Otherwise known as “Hump Day”, Wednesday was seen by the workforce as a day for optimism. The road towards the weekend seemed to be downhill from that point onwards, and for many it had the added advantage of being free from East Enders.


Car

His first car was a black, nineteen forties Austin 10. It lay in a clearing in the woods, surrounded by a sea of long grass, its engine and wheels long since removed. It had become a home for mice, birds and slow creeping rust and yet he revelled in the adventure as he sat on the tattered leather seat, smelling the decay and gripping the spindly steering wheel. He would drive for mile after mile, unable to see over the wheel or to reach the pedals, only returning when his mum called him in for tea.



Coffee

Being the last man on Earth wasn’t easy. There were no birds, cats, dogs, or even insects roaming the empty streets. He felt dreadfully alone as he explored the premises of what had been his hometown. There was no shortage of packaged food; he could pick up anything he needed and although there was nothing fresh, he still had plenty of choice and supplies to last his lifetime.

He stopped, his attention grasped by a new and intoxicating smell. Aromatic and strangely sweet, yet smoky fragrance drifted through the still spring morning, assaulting his sharpened olfactory sense and he felt his heart thumping in his chest for the first time in years. He knew that smell, and its significance. Someone was making fresh coffee.


Newspaper

I can still smell the vinegar soaked newspaper that once enhanced the whole fish and chips’ experience. At the end of a night out, what could be better than to stand at the bus stop, munching at the battered cod, whilst reading ancient news items from the grease stained and fragrant wrappings?


ps - guess which i found hardest??

So far so good

Well the week has been pretty much ok so far. I have been reasonably productive and have kept myself pretty busy. I finished and posted the first piece of work for my course and that is quite a large hurdle to get over. It is largely an online experience and written work is posted for everyone else to read and of course comment on, so it is a bit like taking one's clothes off in public. The brief was fairly open but had to be in the first person and limited to 500 words. That is in itself daunting. 500 words sounds like a lot until you try to tell a story. However i bit the bullet an posted mine yesterday and feedback has begun. Unsurprisingly, people are being very kind, and no mud is in evidence yet. It will only take one to start it though, unless of course everyone is going to be very civilised. I rather hope that will be the case. Interesting that so far no tutor comments have been forthcoming. It's like setting homework to a class and then getting the class to mark it!!!

Anyhow i thought you might like to read my first effort. maybe I'll post my stuff here too so that I have a record of what i do.
(Actually I exceeded the 500 words)

***********

The pain was intense, and seemed to have no distinct origin. Waves of agony swept through my body, intermingled with the dream. Lucid images of a girl and a bar kept flashing before me like a high speed slide show, each image erased by a new wave of pain.

I forced my eyes open, needing to escape from the dream but the pain remained, enhanced by reality. I tried to move but my body refused to respond to instructions. I could see nothing, the blackness was complete as was the silence. I was lying down, on a hard surface and held down by a blanket of coarse material.

I tried to make sense of what was happening, images came and went but nothing made sense. What the hell was happening to me? I told myself that this was a dream, even that the pain was just a dream. I recalled that I had gone out drinking, and as usual I had drifted from one bar to another. I had met a girl, that was no dream, ok I was drunk, but not that drunk, I must have groaned aloud.

I tried to bypass the pain, focussing on the memories that flashed rapidly through my mind, and gradually something began to make sense. There had been a girl, and we had gone back to her place; they all look beautiful at that stage of the evening. She plied me with more drink and that is all that I could remember.

Fresh waves of sheer agony swept through me and I guess that I blacked out. When I came to, there was a grey light filtering into the room through ragged curtains. I could see that the room was unfurnished and that I lay on my back on bare floorboards covered by a blanket. I could turn my head and move my hands but an attempt to make any other move led to excruciating pain.

The silence was broken by the muffled sound of a cell phone. It took me some while to realise that the source lay beneath the thin pillow, and with difficulty I reached for it, pressed a button and held it to my ear.

“Glad you are awake at last.” Said a strangely familiar female voice.

“Don’t try to move and just listen to me. To save you asking, your location is unimportant right now. I am just a girl you met and will probably never remember.”
I tried to fix her face in my mind but I couldn’t.

“I am calling to tell you that you need to get to hospital pretty quickly.”

“But why…..” I began, but she cut me off quickly.

“No questions. There is a number pre-programmed in the phone. Call the hospital and someone will come to get you.”

She gave me the address, I didn’t recognise the street name. I sensed that she hadn’t finished and waited for her to speak again.

There was a long pause then……….

“You are probably wondering about the pain. “ another long pause.

“We took both of your kidneys two days ago. You need medical help, I am sorry”

The line went dead. The silence that followed was broken only by my screams.

Remembrance

If anyone has not seen Holly's latest video, then please take a look - today would be good.

http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=-MShbKCXPr4

Thought for today

A decision

I am going to enjoy every day this week! There - is that a half full glass? :-)

The weekend

Spent a long weekend in the Metropolis and am glad to get some peace and quiet again. I really don't handle noise too well right now and any background sounds tend to make any sort of conversation very difficult.
The object this weekend was to see Queen; not THE Queen, I wouldn't cross the road to see her, but QUEEN, seventies rock stars, along with Paul Rodgers, standing in for the late lamented Freddie.
This was at the O2, that big tent on the south of the river somewhere near Canary Wharf. It is BIG and must hold about 30,000 or more. It isn't just a concert venue, it is also rather like a small town in its own right, and we ate a hearty meal with wine for very reasonable rates before finding our seats. How odd it was when we found ourselves seated next to people that we knew, who had booked independently and more or less at the last minute. They live in the same town and we even knew them by name. The world sometimes feels very small.

It was LOUD - they went through most of their greatest hits and even Freddie got to appear albeit on a screen, singing Bohemian Rhapsody. The crowd loved them and one got the feeling that they were back in their element, faced with a sea of happy faces and waving arms.

It was an experience, and one shared by a pretty diverse audience, though i have to say it was largely white and middle aged. Would i go again? Bloody right i would.

Frying pans and fires

I am back from my scrutination with very mixed feelings. It is always a bad moment when you enter a waiting room and see that it has a well used coffee machine, and yes there was a wait, though not as long as it might have been.

I think that I have been declared fit for the knife, at least i wasn't told any different, but the possible outcomes have been made very clear to me. It looks like I stand to lose a great deal and gain nothing. I may lose my sense of balance, my facial nerve function, as well as my sense of taste on that side too, but on the other hand if I don't get it done there is the almost certain possibility of a brain abcess sooner rather than later. So i signed the forms and feel really quite scared of the future. Damned if i do and damned if i don't.

:-(

Trepidation

I am just filling in time, waiting to attend a pre-op medical that i am warned could occupy up to three hours today. I am also advised to take something to read. So i am to be poked and prodded and questioned at huge length to ensure that I am fit to be operated on. Just imagine being told that you are not!

Well Mr Obama has taken the poison chalice and is now the President Elect. What a whacky system, he now has to wait another length of time before he can take over, giving George W plenty of time to cover his tracks I suppose. How long can it take for a guy to clear his desk?

Oh well guess I'd better head off to the hospital or I'll never find anywhere to park.

Discrimination in the polls

This made me smile - an image on the BBC website! Are the Americans discriminating against the illiterates in their society?

Razzmatazz

Today could be a huge day in the history of the world. America may just manage to appoint its first black President. This really depends on the balance between the intelligent citizens and the Republicans and the proportions of which manage to drag themselves out to vote.

Having watched the process over the last , How many months? I would not be surprised if the vast majority had died from sheer boredom. The electoral system there seems to us outsiders, such a complex and tedious procedure, seemingly there to assure that they find the best man (probably) for the role. Amazingly they still managed to elect Bush, Reagan and Nixon. I find it a little sad that in such a vast and talented nation that they can still put monkeys in charge.

Will Obama be any different? Well he will look different that is for certain, he seems enthusiastic and smart but will he be able to be his own man or will he, like so many before him, respond to the money that pulls his strings. JFK tried to be his own man, and look where he ended up.

It would be good if Obama, should he be elected, can change the way in which the Americans see the world and the way in which the world sees America. Should he fail, then the world may live to rue that horrendous combination of McCain and Palin.

I wish him, and the people of America, the very best of luck.

Winter

Winter is here. November the first and it is wet and grey and cold and windy. The worst combination, guaranteed to provoke waves of emigration, in desire at least.

I loathe winter and see my way through it as a series of fences that need to be crossed before spring. Halloween was the first and now we are lurching along the muddy track towards the dreaded festivities in late December. I find it hard even to say the words, but each time I venture out, i am bombarded with the tacky tinsel coated rubbish that indicates the three month run up to the biggest anticlimax of the year.

Once that is gone and the rubbish all consigned to landfill, I then have my birthday to endure. I never look forward to that, probably because it is stuck in the middle of my least favourite month, but at least when that is done, much of winter is behind.
I'd like to sleep through february, it has no saving graces at all, though frogs seem to find it possible to begin their procreation in the icy ponds. Daffodils appear in march and they are so welcome with their promise of spring.

Actually I think I'll go to sleep now - wake me up in April.

Zeitgeist

http://www.zeitgeistmovie.com/main.htm

I just spent half an hour writing about Zeitgeist and lost the bloody text!!!

This rather intriguing movie can be seen at the above location and is worth seeing, although it should be viewed critically. It is not a film for the faint hearted or those with a short attention span, and probably not for those with a religious conviction, though from those that i know that have a faith, nothing could ever shake that. Evidence matters not a jot.

The film is about power and those that wield it and have done throughout the history of man. Religions had their day, and in the name of their mythology, have condemned so many to death. They also kept people in poverty while building the edifices that we all see and say Wow to.

One line , a quote that i will misquote now, talked about the Power of love needing to overtake the love of power, but until that happens and the mythological hell freezes over, we are doomed to be led by, not incompetant governments but by those with the real power - Money.

Money makes money and the banking corporations own us all. They thrive on poverty, misery and warfare, probably even famine and pestilence. They are in a win win situation as long as the population remains in ignorance or at the best - denial.

Much of the world, and i include my own country, is peopled by the ignorant. Most people are so busy trying to make a living and keep warm, that they are led so easily by the media, which in turn are controlled by the wealthy. We do as we are told and we do so willingly and without question, blissfully unaware that we are the tools of capitalism. ther is no need for any conspiracy as long as the sheep don't get out of their heavily guarded pens.

Ignorance is maintained by dumbing down of everything, including a curriculum in schools that has no content, little challenge and none of the real truth that matters.

We are lied to, day after day after day. People are sent to war, to maintain the profitability of the central banking system. We are terrified by the spectre of terrorism, that is in itself maintained by the same systems, and yet we do nothing.

Many imagine that the banks are hurting now. You can bet your life that the missing trillions are in the CBS vaults and the minds that maintain it are rubbing their hands gleefully.

Watch the movie and be aware if not afraid. Most people won't of course, and if they did, they might just shrug their shoulders and say - so what? Do i care? No of course they don't.

Normality

It seems a while since I wrote anything at all. I seem to find the need to express myself fading as time goes by. Partly I think that this is about laziness, but also because I find that as I get older, I seem more and more out of harmony with those around me. I really don’t set out to be different, but I seem to find myself in small minority groups on so many issues of the day.

I am not easily persuaded by others, unless they can really provide me with convincing evidence to back up their arguments, and please please never try to sell me anything.

There is a perversity in my nature that makes me go in the opposite direction to any flow of opinion or fashion and that I guess is what alienates me from people in general.

I just came back from a weekend visiting my daughter and son in law. They seem to have absorbed the misfortune that spoiled their holiday in New York, and are looking to the future with renewed optimism. It was good to spend some time with them and to be able to do some of the odd DIY jobs that busy young people never seem to be able to get around to. Us oldies still have some uses, and I was able to show them how to put up wallpaper, and to replace a broken window pane. I feel so much better for having seen them

The crunch has continued to crunch, the rich have got richer still and the poor as always will feel the pain more than anyone else, though I fear that many small businesses and even some large ones may collapse before things get any better.

Hungary is the latest European economy to teeter and it is vital that the rest of Europe should step in and prevent that situation from getting any worse. When one country collapses, many more will follow.

Anyhow I said that I’d try to be upbeat and I will say that the sun is shining today, and there is not a cloud in the sky. My mother is feeling better, and my sister’s broken rib, continues to heal.

Sorry

I really will make an effort to be upbeat next post!! Thanks for your patience.

tears

Thanking my readers for their kind and useful comments, I continue; my week actually getting worse. I have hesitated to write about this but sometimes writing things down can help. I rarely cry. I have an ability to bury my emotions and not allow others to know what I feel. Tears were always seen as a sign of weakness and i guess that old habits die hard. Tuesday night I cried and cried, I couldn't help it. It was my daughters birthday, she is on holiday in New York and on tuesday her husband called to tell us that she had miscarried their first baby and was in a hospital. We didn't even know that she was pregnant.

Pragmatically I know that these things happen all the time and that there are usually good biological reasons as to why they happen. I know that pregnancy is hard to maintain and that the overall chances of coming to term are far smaller than most people think, but it doesn't help. She is heartbroken of course, but she will move on, always associating her birthday with her own personal tragedy, but at least she is ok and today flies home. I feel a need to hold her but that will have to wait until next week.

Oh I also spoke to my sister yesterday. She had just fallen downstairs and was in a lot of pain. I now can't get any response from her on either landline or mobile! It is a good job that I don't believe in a God, or I might begin to feel persecuted!

weekend woes

The weekend was difficult. A bittersweet mix if ever there was one. At the harsh end, I went to visit my mother. Something I don't do very often, and it is not her fault. When I left home all those years ago, it was to escape from the clutches of what had been holding me there, and I vowed that i would never return. When i visit, it is only ever for short spells of a day or less. This is my choice.

My mother is very ill. She has a chronic lung problem brought on largely by smoking, which she continues to do despite the misery of not being able to breathe. She now has a chest infection on top of the chronic health issue and coughs incessantly. The medication seems to do little to help and being there was horrible. I hated to see her suffer and felt bad that there was nothing that I could do to make a difference. I could have stayed longer I guess, but to what end? I could have sat with her, watching her suffer until they took her into hospital again, which of course they have.

My sister feels bad for moving away and she likes to take out her feelings on me, attempting to make me feel a guilt that is not there. I do not feel guilty, but I do feel frustrated and powerless and so have even more bad feelings associated with being in my home town. I am in a vicious spiral here, i hate being there and so i don't go and then feel bad that i don't go. Maybe my attitude is selfish but my escape from home left it's scars and its damage is permanent.

I don't even want to talk to my sister now as her projecting onto me is unpleasant and unhelpful. I know that failing parents is a problem that comes to many of us, but living so far away makes the problem so much more difficult to deal with. I don't know what to do.

Bankers

It is so nice to know when you have been missed. I always get a warm fuzzy feeling when I get nice responses to my blog and i guess that is what keeps me coming back.

We are living in interesting times, just like in the old chinese curse, and many of us are probably going to feel the real pain of this financial turmoil before much longer. We have all been encouraged to save for the rainy days, trusting out hard earned cash into the hands of bankers (no rhyming slang intended!). Now it seems to be raining and of course we find that those same "bankers" are quickly snatching back the umbrellas.

I have no idea what it means to me at the moment. I have savings and various policies that I never expected to benefit from anyway, but I dare no even enquire as to what they are worth right now.

It still baffles me where all the money has gone!!! Someone somewhere has made a huge amount of money from us all - again!!!
At least it gives me something to rant about!

Thanks to all of you for reading :-)

Please Hold!!!

I have been without an internet connection for a week. Dealing over a phone line with an ISP is not something to be recommended, though I have to say that the persons with whom I have been in long and tedious conversation have been very good at their jobs. They are well trained and handle customers politely and reassuringly, though when you have spoken to a dozen or more over a few days, you realise that they are rather clone like and respond in an almost Pavlovian way. Each one gives the feeling that they actually care about your problem, which of course they don’t, but even so, it is very hard to get really pissed off with them as individuals.

What does really annoy me though is the system that passes you on from one department to the next with of course the inevitable period of time “on hold”. I used to love Beethoven’s sixth symphony, but having heard it almost without a break over a crackly phone line this week, I think I may give it a miss for a while.

Anyhow, as I write this in WORD, in eager anticipation, a technician is replacing the line to the house in the hope that my online world will soon be restored.

I have felt deprived all week and only managed to catch up with email by visiting a friend, and I do hate to impose on people.

It is only when disconnected for a period of time that you realise how dependent that you have become. I know all about cold turkey now, and have been like a headless chicken, finding all sorts of displacement activities. My desk has been tidied, retidied and messed up again. My bookshelves have been re-organised and I have thrown away so much rubbish.

I have tried and failed various computer games, and got frustrated with them too. I have shredded tons of garden waste and tinkered with a little writing, but I hve not settled to a damned thing.

I have missed friends and online shopping as well as my daily news fix, and my fantasy football updates. I have missed catching up on the odd TV and radio programs that I don’t get to watch live, and I have even neglected my blog. I could have written in word of course as I am now, but somehow my heart hasn’t been in it.

I have everything crossed in the hope that soon I will have my lifeline reconnected. He is running a few tests and I should know within the hour. Wish me luck!

Toxicity

Autumn can be a dangerous time. It seems that most bad things in my life have happened at this time of year, and as I guess that i am in the autumn of my life, the situation can only get worse.

Recently, two local women collected wild fungi from the botanical gardens here. This is a common passtime as the woodlands and fields are full of mushrooms and toadstools of all descriptions. Most of them are safe to eat and some of them are delicious and highly prized. There are so many species out there, and luring among them are a handful that are highly toxic. Most of the nasty ones are fairly easy to identify, but the worst of them all is not. It has a significant name - The Death cap, and in its immature state, at first glance it looks much like a button mushroom. They are easily harvested by mistake and they even taste good.

The unfortunate women ate some of these, and one has since died, the other as far as i know remains very ill. The toxins in the Death cap have no antidote and a 90% mortality rate as the toxins destroy both liver and kidney function. These innocuous looking things are clearly best avoided.

There are a few bits of advice that can be offered to those who delve into the woods for free and delicious food.

1. If you are not 100% sure about identifying the really nasty ones, then stick to the supermarkets.

2. Never eat anything with white gills. Field mushrooms have gills that range from pink to dark brown.

3, Avoid anything with a ragged skirt as shown in the photo.


I had a friend for whom Autumn is a favourite time. At this time of year I remember so many good things and yet I always feel a sense of apprehension and foreboding. Personally I always heave a long sigh of relief when springtime returns. Right now, springtime seems a long way away.

Quandary

I have a friend, ( ok don't look surprised, some people do you know! ) that i have known for many years. We have never been close, but he always had a sense of humour and was fun to be with. We share a taste in music, a certain amount of history and a few mutual friends.

In recent years his eyesight has diminished, due to a genetic disorder and now he sees very little, or so he would have us believe. He lives alone and seems to manage to get around in daylight, but is very hampered by darkness. Consequently he is becoming increasingly reliant on the goodwill and help of others. I am perfectly happy to do odd jobs for him, and even run him to the doctor or the dentist from time to time, but he is becoming more and more demanding.

Several years ago, he signed up with an agency that puts him in touch with young and available eat european women. Each week he would receive the CVs (resumées) of a number of nubile and gorgeous women, all of whom seem to be willing to do anything to get their hands on an English man. Now I find this very odd in the first place, but he insists that this company will find him the woman of his dreams and that she will marry him and look after him. It all seems to go in cycles, he chooses a short list and sends it in. They invite these women to come to see him. One will agree and arrange to visit on a specified date. He gets excited and when the day comes - she has not been able to make it. Reasons include surprising lack of Visa, inability to afford ticket, lost in Vienna, etc etc. THis has been going on now for three years and all he has to show for his money is a few well thumbed photos, and a diminished bank account. All of us have pointed out the pit that he is digging but he insists that he wants a Russian, Ukranian, Georgian, whatever, woman to cater for his needs. He has failed to tell them about his disability altogether! I worry that one day one might turn up, take one look and vanish immediately.

That is not my problem however and if he chooses to dream and have those dreams shatterered on a regular basis then so be it.

My quandary lies elsewhere. He is becoming a nuisance. To begin with, he is letting himself go in terms of hygeine and appearance. He is dirty, his clothes are rarely washed and he smells. His fingernails are long and ragged and utterly filthy, and the source of that filth appears to be something unspeakable within the confines of this blog. He drinks heavily and is clearly suffering with chronic depression. He refuses to do anything about it except that he calls people on the phone once he is in his cups. This can be very late at night. He started with me, and I am afraid that I give him very little time on the phone, and eventually i gave up answering him during the night.

He has now turned his attention to someone else. And phones her several times a day. She is softer than i and will listen to him, or should I say would listen to him. She has now taken to ignoring the calls to, but he persists and leaves long and rambling messages on her phone. Whenever we meet he grabs her and slobbers all over her and franky she is not happy. So much so that she is now avoiding coming over here in case he is there.

He has a very short fuse and does not take criticism well. I don't know what to do. He is already depressed and I do not want to push him over the edge of that dark pit. I know it all too well. I feel that I should confront him with what is making him into someone that everyone avoids, but I don't. That in turn makes me feel that I am taking a cowardly stance. I do not want to take on all his issues and problems and yet I feel so sorry for him. What can I do?

Knowledge

They say that a little knowledge is a dangerous thing!
I have a little knowledge about all sorts of things and quite often that has got me into trouble, none more so than in the wonderful world of DIY. All too often i will take on a job that seems ok at the outset and then, because i know less than I ought to have done, a small job grows into a bigger one or even sets off a chain reaction of DIY. Recently, someone that I know well, installed a new light fitting in their front room. It is an attractive, but very heavy unit that had to be firmly screwed to the ceiling.
Now ceilings are varied in their construction, but all have certain features in common. One of them is the supporting beams that we call joists. It is essential that anything heavy should be attached to one or more of these.

To cut a long story short, last time i went there, there were deep cracks in the ceiling around the fitting, and only a week later, the ceiling came down along with the heavy and expensive fitting. Fortunately there was no-one underneath it. The fitting had been screwed into the plaster only and it is a wonder that it had stayed up that long.

Basically what i am saying is that you can never have enough knowledge. Knowledge is empowering and gived us increased autonomy and freedom. Without it we are no different to other animals that inhabit the earth.

Yesterday I was reading about the Pope's latest announcement, made at a Mass in Paris. Allegedly, he condemned "pagan Ideals of materialism, money, power and knowledge." Now i find this a bit hard to take as the Vatican is a hugely wealthy organisation, with vast powers and probably one of the most extensive libraries in the world. What is he condemning? Is it everyone outside of the church?

I suppose as far as religious leaders of all persuasions are concerned, a little knowledge is ok, what they cannot handle is people who know too much , as people in those positions have minds of their own and are less easily manipulated.

As time goes by, the knowledge base increases exponentially. If only more people would make more use of it!

smells

Of all of our senses, i think that the sense of smell is grossly underrated. To have an olfactory capability of a dog must be wonderful indeed.
This morning I was walking through fields, in an attempt to take some pictures of National Trust properties, and though hampered somewhat by low flying clouds zipping in from the south west, I did manage to make it to St Catherine's Oratory, or what remains of it. This place was built on a very high spot as a penance for being found in posession of wine belonging to the totally incorrupt church. Anyhow, that is not really relevant and if I were to go on I'd have to look up dates and i am frankly not that interested. What I wanted to talk about was the ability of smells too evoke strong memories, and the abundant cowpats that littered the fields, did just that. I was transported back to my childhood and to the enormous freedom that I had in my life between leaving the house and going back to it.

I was a country boy at heart and I guess that in many ways I still am. You can take the boy from the countryside......blah blah you know the rest.

In those days there were two things that one always carried in ones pocket. We had no money, but everyone that I knew had a knife, and some string! How sad it is these days that carrying a knife has different connotations, and kids that carry them may be doing so for totally different reasons. I still carry one more or less wherever i go, but am aware that there are some places that it is best not to.

With a knife you could do so much, we were rarely bored. A Knife can be put to all sorts of good use, and we made all sorts of things. Bows and arrows were a staple, and a good bow became a prized posession. Alas most of them were not good and would break at the first use, and arrows would split or get lost as soon as used. Willows grew in abundance along the river banks and they provided most of the materials that we needed. String was essential of course for the bowstring but also for tying branches together to make camps. We could spend a whole day building a camp by the river bank only to find next day that someone else had wrecked it. It didn't matter, if we found another one that someone else had made, we'd wreck that and use the raw materials. We made spears too and pretended to hunt wild animals. WE never came close enough to any self respecting beast, but we liked to imagine that we might.

Later we'd make fishing rods, Tom Sawyer style, tying a length of string or line to the end, and with worms or bits of bread, we'd catch minnows and other more stupid fish all day long.

I can still smell the willow bark as it was stripped away, revealing the cold damp creamy white heartwood, I can smell the river and the nettlebeds that we seemed impervious to, though no doubt we were stung so often that we didn't notice, and i can smell the cowpats that we'd occasionally drop someone in.

It is an amazing sense, and it also works in reverse. If i think hard and focus on an event in my life, quite often it is a smell that comes to me before anything else. I wonder when this sense fades away like the others tend to, if memories of smells will still persist. I do hope so.

Spring to autumn

As always, friends and the family that I choose to share things with, have been very supportive, and I know that some people really do care about me and that gives me a warm fuzzy feeling. I don't think that I have ever been one to court attention, and it is really only through my blog that I tend to really dislose what is in my mind. I do not indulge in self pity, and I can honestly say that when things go wrong with my body, I do not think "Why me?". That always seems a strange thing to contemplate. I mean why NOT me? LIfe is to a great extent random. WE like to think that we have control, and yes we do have the facility to make decisions, but it is not a game, there is no referee, and there is no game plan. If there were then any real choice that we make would have no meaning at all.

To me, when things go wrong, I usually think something like "Oh shit - not again!" and I put myself in the hands of those who i assume know what they are doing, and then hope for the best. So far i have been fortunate in that those responsible for cutting me up and putting me back together seem to have been pretty good at their jobs and each operation has given me back a quality of life that I really do appreciate every day of my life. I do not consider myself to be unlucky. Quite the reverse in fact, I feel that I am enormously fortunate to be here at all, and then to be in a position where I have no real worries any more and I seem to have developed a mental state where I am always OK. I do not seek extremes any more, as in the pursuit of those extremes, lie so many pitfalls and the potential for much suffering, and we all know that physical pain is no match for the other kind.

I am lucky that I know so many wonderful people, a few of whom I would call my friends. I hope they know who they are, as they do bring much into my life and although i am not very demonstrative, i treasure them more than any material things (except maybe my computer :-) ) Those people enrich my days and I am well aware that it is much easier to lose them than to gain new ones. I have reached a state in my life when I try hard to be nice to everyone. There seems no point in being otherwise. I smile at strangers, and quite often they smile back, and doesn't that make a difference to the way that you feel?

I do not fear death. I fear the process I think, and maybe the thought that I may be missing something. My own belief is that this is it! There is nothing afterwards, why should there be? Religions have grown through a fear of nothingness and an inability to comprehend the futility of an individual life. I know that most of my life has been futile, and the only things that matter are the positive things that one leaves behind, whether they be children, or the effect that one has on those around you.

Through children, our genes are perpetuated and through our actions, our thoughts and feelings can be passed on. Some are able to pass on words, art or music and a tiny group, through this will become immortal. I cannot imagine a time when people are not aware of Mozart or Shakespeare, but most of us will quickly fade into oblivion, remembered only at a molecular level.

In my own genes are echoes of my own ancestors, most of whom I never knew. They too had lives that were meaningless and as far as i know, they left little behind but their DNA. Sometimes i think that it would be interesting to trace a family tree, but then, when i look at the challenge that it poses, I don't get around to it. Maybe, unless my own genome meets a dead end street, my ancestors will take the trouble to look backwards, and my name may crop up as some anonymous figure from the 20th and 21st centuries. All it will say is Paul Cotton - Teacher. It would be nice to imagine that I'd be remembered for more than that, but it is unlikely!

Wednesday

Well the day is here and so far so good. The world has not come to an end for all of us though undoubtedly it has for some. Each of us thinks of ourselves as central to the universe, and that is quite natural i guess. Everything goes on around us and so we have to be the pinpoint singularity of our own existence. One of the hard things about dying must be, leaving things undone. Perhaps it is like leaving a party early, against ones will. You know that behind you, people will go on having fun and that your departure is largely unnoticed.

Perhaps the world did come to an end and that we just haven't noticed yet! Maybe there are parallel worlds out there and we just slip from on to the other and that everything is infinite.

Anyway enough of that rubbish! I have the news that you have been waiting for! :-) Yesterday I saw the consultant. A lovely softly spoken gentleman who showed me the scan of my head. I was expecting to see my brain, but there was no evidence of it at all. What did show up though were the cavities in my skull that contain my ears. It was odd, knowing what i was looking at - i could see all of the tiny ear bones in the left ear and the air space that makes up the middle ear. Even parts of the inner ear could be identified. The right ear however looked very different and the space that should be filled with air is filled with a growth of some sort. Probably not vegetable, it has basically taken over like some alien invader and it has to be removed before it seeks out and finds my brain. Having said that, I couldn't find it, though i know that it is hiding in there somewhere.

So anyway, i have an october appointment with a knife, or a drill and hammer and chisel. I suspect the latter as they have to get inside the skull and attack the damn thing from the inside. It sounds quite gruesome and so pardon me if i don't talk too much about it now. Maybe if i am able, i will do so post the event. The doc was very keen to tell me that there are risks of nasty infections, nerve damage, loss of balance and not much hope of getting the hearing back, so all in all I am less than ecstatic. However, plenty of people go through far worse than I do and so i will not complain.

In a way i was hoping that a black hole would engulf us all today. I know it sounds selfish, but I'd hate to think that if i went alone, that people would not be talking about me after I'd left! I hate being ignored. :-)

May you all have a perfect day and be grateful that the loonies are probably wrong every time.

waiting

I am not very good at waiting, though I seem to spend a lot of my time doing just that. At the moment I am waiting to meet an appointment at the hospital to discover the outcome of my CT scan. I know that being nervous is pointless but I do admit to having the faintest flutterings of butterflies in my stomach, and am making more trips to the little room next door than normal.

It is the whole hospital thing again. I really get very worked up at the prospect of going back in there every time, and even though I know that it is only a consultation, it makes no difference.

I hate impunctuality, so of course I will be there early. i will find a seat in the waiting room as far from anyone as possible and I will sit nonchalantly reading a woman's magazine, (there are never any others!) and pretend to be comfortable and relaxed. All the time though my insides will be in turmoil.

I will listen and nod as the results are explained to me and when i come out I will think of countless questions that I should have asked, and by then of course it will be too late.

In a couple of hours that part will all be done and dusted and I thin have to wait for the day of the surgery. That however isn't for a few weeks and so for now i will bury it and bring it out again nearer the time.

For some strange reason i am reminded of an experience i had when waiting for a bus. Two women were talking about the death of a neighbour, the bus was late and the conversation was more interesting than the rain - One woman asked the other what he had died of. The other's reply was astonishing - Nothing serious, just his heart!! I still cannot be sure what was going on in her head, but that has stayed with me all those years.

Anyway This has passed some time and in a few minutes i can set off. Wish me luck!

The end is nigh

One of my favourite songs is Collide - by Howie Day. It has a lingering connotation that is hard to shake off.

I mention that, in advance of tomorrow, when, if we are to believe the loony fringe, the world will come to an end.

Tomorrow the CERN particle collider goes on line, and experiments begin that involve causing collisions between sub atomic particles. Protons will be accelerated around a huge tunnel and crashed into each other at speeds approaching the speed of light, and as a result, they will be shattered releasing all sorts of bits an pieces for vast numbers of scientists to observe and measure.

One possible outcome, and this is a very slim possibility, is that mini black holes will be formed, as conditions are likely to be similar to the big bang, albeit on a small scale. Steven Hawking hopes so, as any radiation detected from them would almost certainly result in a Nobel prize for him.

Now a black hole is a scary thing. It is effectively a tiny lump of matter that is so dense, it has a gravitational pull that nothing can escape from. They draw in matter around them and become more dense and this becomes a vicious circle. There are some that believe that on wednesday, we will all vanish into a man made black hole, and the world will cease to exist.

One of the scientists working on the project is reported as saying that anyone who believes that is a "complete twat!", I do love the use of scientific terminology.

I am wondering how, if the world is going to end, I would spend my last 24 hours. Maybe if anyone is reading this they might like to share their own thoughts on that one.

Roger McGough gave this some consideration in the 1960s






At Lunchtime - A story of Love

by Roger McGough

When the bus stopped suddenly to avoid
damaging a mother and child in the road,
the young lady in the greenhat sitting opposite
was thrown across me, and not being one to
miss an opportunity i started to makelove
with all my body.

At first she resisted saying that it was too early in the morning and too soon
after breakfast and that anyway she found
me repulsive. But when i explained that
this being a nuclearage, the world was going
to end at lunchtime, she took off her greenhat,
put her busticket in her pocket
and joined in the exercise.

The buspeople, and there were many of them,
were shockedandsurprised and amused and annoyed, but when the
word got around that the world was coming to an end at
lunchtime, they put their pride in their pockets with their bustickets and
madelove one with the other. And even the busconductor,
being over, climbed into the cab and struck up some sort of
relationship with the driver.

Thatnight, on the bus coming home,
wewere all alittle embarrassed, especially me and the younglady
in the greenhat, and we all started to say in different ways howhasty
and foolish we had been. Butthen, always having been a bitofalad, i stood up and said it was a pity that the world didn;t nearly end every lunchtime and
that we could always pretend. And then it happened.......

Quick asa crash we all changed partners
and soon the bus was acquiver with white
mothballbodies doing naughty things.

And the next day
And everyday
In everybus
In everystreet
In everytown
In everycountry

people pretended that the world was coming
to an end at lunchtime. It still hasn't
Although in a way it has.

Sarah Palin

So Sarah Palin could become the Vice President of the USA. Now to some, that may seem like a pleasant prospect. She is after all an attractive and vivacious young woman who at least looks good in front of a camera, and along with John McCain promises big changes in American society (don't they all!).

I can handle the idea of Republicans being re-elected, after all the USA is fundamentally a conservative country and is driven along on its path to world domination by the interests of big business, and not much can change that. I have no problem with them electing a woman to a powerful position, let them have a taste of it! What concerns me is that she (allegedly) is a creationist!

Vice presidents, can do and have become presidents. America likes to shoot its presidents from time to time, and there is a possibility that should the Republicans come to power, that she could become president.

Creationists are blind followers of religious doctrine, they abandon all attempts at original thought, accepting the words of middle eastern philosophy that was written down almost two thousand years ago. This is the equivalent of reading Grimm, and accepting as absolute truth that there are fairies at the bottom of the garden!

Ok much of the central American Bible belt will back her up, but I find it really scary that people with such limited ability to grasp facts can find themselves in positions of power. I am sure that she sees America as the promised land and that Americans are the true soldiers of her god, and who knows where that might lead?

They say that we elect the government that we deserve. Electing creationists to powerful positions is a step backwards to wards the dark ages of ignorance and bigotry, and of course that is what Conservatism is about.

September

It seems like september in all senses. The weather, well, what can you say that hasn't already been said? Summer has gone un-noticed and now we slip downwards to the dreaded winter, and there is no going back.

I thought I had an appointment to see the surgeon today but it seems i got it wrong again. My appointment is next week so I will put that away again, and think about the present. I feel listless today, and am distinctly lacking in direction. I have no projects on the go and as term hasn't started, no students either. I find myself inventing tasks and even doing things that don't need doing just to fill my days.

I have found an Open University course on Writing Fiction and attempted to register online this morning. It wouldn't let me on the grounds that my details are a close match to other details on their database. Well it is hardly surprising as i am a returning student! Dammit, that means i have to print out and fill in an application form and put it in the post! Writing by hand is almost a forgotten skill - like so many things that I used to be able to do, it is vanishing into the fog of the autumnal years.

I have found a pen however and must do something about this today! If I leave it any longer i know what will happen, i will forget it and that would be a shame. Who knows, I may find it in me to write something worthwhile one day.

My friend Holly has been very productive recently and has added two more songs to her ever growing catalogue. She never ceases to amaze me in terms of her abilities and I just hope that she gets the breaks that she deserves. This is a link to her latest offering!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XrCcqI12Qhs&feature=email

another day

Just back from yet another visit to the hospital. I know the place pretty well by now, and as I wandered between endoscopy and audiology, I passed a number of departments that i have spent many an hour in. I even saw the surgeon who last spilled my blood. There are still some departments that I have yet to visit but no doubt if I hang around long enough I will get to see them too.

I seem to have spent a significant part of my life in the hands of the NHS and i guess that i am grateful to still be here, to be walking and seeing clearly, and yet here i am grumbling about the time i spend there. There are many people who go their whole lives without any intervention by the medical profession, and they are so lucky.

Just entering a hospital fills me with feelings of dread. The smells, the noises and even the decoration on the walls, are all triggers to me. They bring back memories from childhood that are best left alone, and whenever i leave the premises it wis with great relief.

The outcome from today was good, and a weight has been lifted for sure. next week it is my turn again and I will learn the outcome of my CT scan. Oddly I don't look forward to it at all. I wonder if i have a brain?

Sod's law

My understanding of Sod's law, is that if anything can go wrong, then it will. There are many variations on this of course, one of them being that if you drop a piece of buttered toast then it will always land butter side down.

Yesterday I had a CT scan. An interesting experience andI have to say that our health service is a wonderful institution. My appointment was at 1.30m and i was seen as soon as I arrived. The women in charge were courteous and kind and made me feel very relaxed.

As I lay on the conveyor belt, everything that I needed to know was explained and all I had to do was lie still, while the wonders of modern technology whirled around me. It was rather like a giant, soap and water free washing machine, all controlled by the appropriate program, and as it whirled, I slid in and out of the aperture, like a hollywood cliché. Then i got an itch on my nose! It is almost impossible to stay still when you have an itch, and that is all I had to do - just stay still. In and out i went like a slow moving piston; round and round the scanner went, and the itch got worse and worse. Never have I lost interest in technology so swiftly, as all I could perceive was the itch which by now had grown out of all proportion in its significance.

Then the whirring stopped, I was withdrawn from the cavity and it was all over. I sat up and of course the itch had run its course too.

Now i have to wait a week or so for the results!

Personal spaces

It has been a while since I received any comments here. Clearly I am not being controversial enough, either that or my reader is agreeing with me.
I was reading the other day about a woman who was injured on a plane. She was suing the airline because she was crushed by the passenger sitting next to her.

Whenever I have flown, I have waited with a great deal of trepidation in the departure lounge, examining the assembly of fellow passengers and assessing the ones that I really did not want to sit next to. There are many stereotypes that are always present. The ones with the loud voices, loud shirts or worse, loud children, then there are the ones who look like they might be terrorists, the very tall, like me, whose legs will spread through necessity into the surrounding spaces. There are the elderly who one guesses will be up and down visiting the toilet throughout the flight, there are those that look as if they are about to die of fright, and those that just look ill. By far the worst nightmare though has to be the enormously obese person who cannot possibly fit into a normal seat without overflowing into all the surrounding spaces.

When such a person arrives in the departure lounge, you can see the feeling of panic spread through the passengers each trying to glimpse the seat number on the boarding pass, checking it against their own. The nightmare has to come true for someone, and everyone hopes that it isn't them. More people pray at this time than they do at take off and landing. If I had any proclivity for prayer, this would be the time for me to do it.

I, like many others, loathe invasions of my personal space. I am not naturally gregarious and treat most people distantly and hope that they will remain that way. When i enter a room, i will choose a seat as far away from anyone as possible, and hate being touched in any way by strange people. To be overwhelmed by folds of adipose tissue is my idea of hell.

According to the story, the husband of the large woman, had requested that he sat somewhere else, and so a poor unsuspecting woman was saddled with the experience. Fat lady was so vast that the arm rest between the seats had to be removed and so the poor soul next to her was crushed and needed hospital treatment.

A doctor friend of mine tells me that there really is no excuse for obesity. Even though there are many contributing factors, a fat person fundamentally eats too much. For whatever reason, they eat more than they need to and that is a personal choice.

Everyone who flies is limited in the weight of baggage that they can carry, regardless of their own mass. So a 120lb passenger has the same limitations as one of 600lb. THis is a ludicrous situation and maybe it should be redressed. Perhaps there should be a restriction on total weight carried and that penalty tarriffs for those whose combine mass exceeds a reasonable norm. I am tall and probably carry more pounds than I should and would accept this system, even though we tall people are discriminated against by the ridiculous seat pitch of most airliners.

Discrimination is part of life and maybe by discriminating in favour of the non obese, that might provide some incentive for some people to make life style changes, even if it is just choosing not to fly!